Spring before winter

Painting by my youngest

(

spinel

, this is just a reminder of how precious you are)

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Today was one of those days.
Sometimes that means a day when I’m tired 
and sick at heart; sometimes a day 
when busyness never stops buzzing 
and stinging.

Today, it’s a day when I don’t want to parent:
don’t want to break up fights
or make little plates of food 
or clean splashy dog shit off of shoes. But I do.

When my middle daughter needs a ride to work
I tell my husband I want to do it.
Even in driving rain and driving dark, it’s better
than the stale air of house I have breathed all day. 

When I come home, bladder full
two grocery bags at my feet
I pause to listen to the music
that seems to pour out of the sky above me. 

But it’s not the sky strumming and singing
but the window, warm square above the front door
where my oldest daughter, pink hair freshly pink
is playing her guitar for the first time in months.

The blend of words and notes
makes a ladder down to my feet 
where I stand, bladder still full
conscious of the rain and the dark 

but also clinging to and climbing the ladder 
she stretches down to me, music 
that I haven’t heard in months. 
Spring is here. And it’s only November.